


When You Come Back Down

by graciecon



Series: When You Come Back Down [1]
Category: Captain America (1944), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 40s Steve Rogers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 16:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12391842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graciecon/pseuds/graciecon
Summary: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and female!reader have been best friends for years and Steve is in love with her. Of course, as far as Steve’s concerned, Bucky and reader are perfect for each other and he’s not about to get in the way of that. But when an opportunity presents itself, Steve is suddenly not sure that he’s ready to concede so easily.





	1. October 1936

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic as a one-shot and now I think I want to make it a series but I’m not sure. It would be primarily pre-serum!Steve because as much as I love Cap, I love the little kid from Brooklyn who was “too stupid to run away from a fight.” Let me know what you think! Your comments and suggestions mean a lot to me ♥

The vanishing sun cast a yellow shadow over the empty street that led to Steve Rogers’ apartment. The young man trudged heavily along the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the pavement below him. A taller dark-haired man walked amiably beside him. Neither of them spoke a word until they reached the apartment building. Steve fumbled in his pocket, searching for his key while his companion watched in silence. After a few moments, the dark-haired young man spoke.

“We looked for you, after. My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery.”

Steve did not look up, still patting himself down, trying to find his keys. “I know. I’m sorry.”

He finally stopped and lifted his eyes to his friends’. James Buchanan Barnes was impossibly handsome, his short, dark hair slicked back fashionably, storm blue eyes sweeping over his best friend’s hunched form. Steve sighed. “I just kinda wanted to be alone.”

Bucky nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “How was it?”

Steve shrugged, a vain attempt at nonchalance. His shoulders felt heavier than usual. “It was okay. She’s next to Dad.”

Bucky took a step closer to Steve, who turned back towards the door of his apartment and resumed the fruitless search for his key.

“I was gonna ask…,”

“I know what you’re gonna say, Buck,” Steve said, staring at the ground. “I just…”

“We can put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids,” Bucky joked, a smile lighting his features. “It’ll be fun. All you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash.”

Bucky clapped Steve’s shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “Come on.”

Steve gently pulled his shoulder out of Bucky’s grasp. “Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own.” Steve turned one final time toward his door, this time not bothering to pretend he knew where his key was. Bucky shook his head, his smile dimmed by Steve’s reticence. He walked forward, stopped by the railing of the apartment walkway and kicked a small rock, revealing a spare key. He bent low to scoop it up.

“The thing is,” he said, leaning past Steve to place the key in the lock, “you don’t have to. I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.”

Steve stared at the key, then looked at Bucky who grinned. He smiled back, the first real smile he’d managed since his mother had died two days ago. He opened his mouth to speak but a noise on the staircase of the apartment building made both men turn.

“Damn it!”

Y/N Y/L/N was standing on the top step of the stairs, hopping slightly on her left foot. She was holding her right shoe in one hand, the heel snapped off, and balancing a large casserole dish in the crook of her other arm. Bucky and Steve scrambled forward to help her, Bucky relieving her of the casserole dish and Steve holding his hand out to walk her across the landing.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, concern written on his face. Bucky had lifted the cover of the casserole dish and was inhaling the scent of homemade spaghetti and meatballs.

“Bucky!” Y/N snapped, swatting him across the arm as she passed him. Bucky flashed her a brilliant smile before setting the cover back in place. Steve had finally unlocked his front door and the trio entered the apartment together.

Y/N glanced around the apartment sadly. There were boxes piled in corners, marked Sarah Rogers in Steve’s handwriting. The living room was a mess, blankets and pillows tossed haphazardly on the small sofa, stacks of plates piled on the coffee table. There were several sketchbooks tucked under dirty coffee mugs and pencil shavings covered the floor. Y/N sighed. She had called Steve every day since his mother had passed and asked him if he needed anything, if he wanted to stay with her and her parents, urged him to call Bucky and stay with him. But for all Steve lacked in stature and muscle, he made up for in stubbornness.

Bucky set the casserole dish down in the kitchen and pulled clean plates out of the almost-bare cupboards. Y/N removed her other shoe and set the pair by the door, carefully picking up around the room in her stockings. She collected plates and cups and dropped them in the kitchen sink. Bucky bumped his hip with hers as she walked by and she laid a hand gently on his cheek, smiling kindly up at him. These were her boys. They had been for ten years, since primary school had brought them together in a united front against the playground bullies that dared pick on Steve. Since then, she and Bucky took turns watching out for Steve, who looked after each of them in his own way. It was a dynamic that worked and not one of them could conceive a life led without the other.

Steve watched his friends bustle around his apartment, feeling the weight sink into his feet and legs, keeping him rooted. Y/N walked past him with a tray of mugs filled with hot tea, then turned, realizing Steve hadn’t moved since they’d entered the apartment. She set the tray down quickly and moved to where he stood. She slid her arms under his, bending ever so slightly as she hugged him. Steve’s hands came up to settle on her back and he let himself relax into her warmth. He wanted to cry but he felt like he’d used up his quota of tears in the past two days and none would come. He buried his face in Y/N’s hair, inhaling the scent of lavender shampoo that was her signature. Bucky watched from the doorway of the kitchen, smiling lightly, his face belying the turmoil that hid beneath it. He was worried about Steve, more so than usual. Without his mother, Steve’s ordinarily reckless behavior was certain to intensify and he had refused every offer of help extended to him.

Y/N had finally all but released Steve and was leading him to the sofa by the hand. Steve sunk into the thin cushions of the sofa, shoulders hunched forward again, as if the weight of them was too much for him. Bucky walked the plates of food into the living room, setting one down in front of Steve and then Y/N. He settled on the arm of the sofa with his own plate and he and Y/N kept up a steady but soft stream of conversation while the three of them ate.

Steve felt infinitely better with food in his system and looked up gratefully at his two friends. Bucky was laughing at something Y/N had said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Steve sat back, leaning his head against the cushions, exhaustion pulling at his limbs. He’d barely slept in two days and his body was demanding its share now. He drifted to sleep with Bucky and Y/N’s voices carrying him away.  
________________________________________  
Steve woke several hours later in his bed. The sheets had been changed and the blanket covering him smelled freshly laundered. He yawned, stretching his arms over his head and pulled the blanket off himself. The room was distinctly cleaner than the way he’d left it and he smirked sleepily. Y/N, he thought. He ran a hand through his blonde, sleep-ruffled hair and trudged into the living room.

Y/N was asleep on the small sofa, her dress wrinkled and riding up along her legs, revealing the place where her garter held her stockings in place. Steve blushed brightly, though thankfully no one was around to see it. He ran back into his bedroom and retrieved the blanket on the bed, carrying it to where Y/N lay. He covered her, gently laying the blanket over her sleeping form, then quietly made his way into the kitchen. He glanced at the cat-shaped clock on the wall. It was nearly midnight. He frowned, hoping Y/N wouldn’t get in trouble for being out so late. He made two cups of coffee as quietly as he could, then walked back into the living room and sunk into the red armchair beside the sofa.

Steve sipped his coffee, watching the way Y/N’s body rose and fell with her breath. He knew he should wake her but she looked blissful in slumber and he rarely got the opportunity to look at her without interruption or questions. He was tempted to pick up a sketchbook and draw her but it would take too long and he really did need to wake her.

He stood up after a moment and placed a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her until her eyes fluttered open. She moaned softly and smiled at him and his heart felt as though someone was squeezing it. He blushed again and smiled back, stepping back a bit to allow her to sit up.

“Made some coffee,” Steve said, pointing to the mug on the coffee table. She hummed drowsily, standing to straighten her dress, the blanket Steve had draped over her sliding back down to the sofa. He cleared his throat and took a long sip of his coffee. Y/N scooped her mug off the table and cradled it against her chest happily.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly, bringing the cup to her lips with her eyes on Steve.

“Better,” Steve murmured. “I mean, at least physically.”

Y/N nodded. “Bucky and I were talking –,” she said, in a voice Steve was sure was meant to sound casual but he cut her off.

“I’m sure you were, but I’ve already told both of you I’m fine on my own.”

“Steve, we’re worried about you. There’s no shame in accepting our help.”

“To make you feel better?” Steve knew he sounded ungrateful and mean, but he was angry that they’d been talking about him behind his back as if he were some fragile doll.

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him and he sighed. “I know you both mean well, but don’t you understand how it makes me feel? Mom is gone. I need to be stronger than that, than falling apart and letting my friends carry me.”

“There is strength in knowing when to accept help, Steve. In knowing when you can’t do it all on your own. If your mother was here, she’d tell you that.” Y/N stood up, placing the coffee cup on the table and moving to put her shoes on.

Steve sat silently for several seconds then stood and followed her. “It’s too late for you to walk home, Y/N. Call your parents, let them know you’re safe and staying here for the night.” Y/N looked at him, her brow furrowed in a frown before Steve added, “Please?”

Y/N sighed and slipped her shoes back off. She walked past him and flopped back down on the sofa, grabbing the blanket and covering her legs. Steve sat beside her and she laid her head gently on his shoulder. Steve’s heart hammered heavily under his ribs but he wrapped one skinny arm around her shoulder and held her against his side.

They sat like this for a while, without speaking. Steve’s mind whirred, considering his options. He had known Y/N for ten years, almost as long as he’d known Bucky. He had been in love with her for almost that entire time, even before he’d been aware of what that meant. Of course, Steve was Steve and he did not possess Bucky’s ease with the opposite sex or his excessive good looks and while Steve had always been comfortable with Y/N, he had never felt brave enough to attempt a courtship.

Of course, there was also the matter of Bucky and Y/N. For as long as Steve could remember the two of them had been painfully in sync. Their conversations flowed seamlessly and Bucky always knew exactly how to make Y/N laugh, no matter her mood. Steve had wanted to be jealous, but he understood. Bucky was charismatic and people were naturally drawn to him. He’d always assumed Y/N and Bucky would end up together eventually. Yet here she was, her head on Steve’s shoulder, Steve’s arm wrapped around her, and he didn’t know if it was the lateness of the hour or his desperation to prove that he was stronger than everyone gave him credit for, but he felt a sudden boldness rising in him. He pulled his arm back slightly and she lifted her head to look up at him. He swallowed hard, ducked his head and pressed his lips to hers lightly. He heard her soft squeak of surprise but she did not push him away or move to stop him and Steve slanted his mouth against hers gently to deepen the kiss. He felt her hand come up and her fingers slide into his hair and he sighed, her touch sending waves of warmth through his body. Her lips parted beneath his and he tentatively slipped his tongue into her mouth, the warmth becoming a bright heat when their tongues touched. An involuntary groan escaped him and he wrapped his arms around her waist in an effort to pull her closer.

She pulled her lips away from his suddenly and he whined quietly at the loss. He opened his eyes and found her watching him, the expression on her face perplexed.

“W-what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?” Steve asked, loosening his hold on her waist. She shook her head but didn’t speak and disentangled herself from him, standing up abruptly and crossing to the other side of the living room, a distinct panic on her face now.

“Steve, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, biting her lip, wrapping her arms all the way around herself. Steve stood too and wavered on the spot, feeing lightheaded after the kiss. He took a step towards her but she seemed to cower against the wall behind her as he did and the elation he’d felt only moments before disappeared.

“Why are you sorry? I should be sorry. I don’t know what came over me, Y/N. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I promise I won’t –”

He stopped as he realized that she had started crying. He crossed the distance in the room and pulled her into a gentle hug.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispered against her hair. “I’m so sorry.”

She pulled back from him, tears glistening in her eyes. “Why did you kiss me, Steve?”

Steve released her, staring down at his now-empty hands. “I don’t know.”

“Steve—”

“—I love you,” he said it quickly as though he were pulling off a bandage. “I always have. I always thought you and Bucky were…that the two of you would eventually—,”

“—Bucky and I are just friends, Steve,” Y/N said sternly. Steve nodded.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he mumbled again. “But I thought there was more there and I didn’t want to get in the way. But I’m in love with you. And I just thought I would—,” he sighed, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“You didn’t tell me because you thought I was in love with Bucky?” Steve nodded again, the expression on his face becoming more and more miserable.

“But you never considered I could be in love with you?”

Steve lifted his eyes to hers. “It wouldn’t have made much sense. Bucky is…”

“Bucky is what, Steve?” Y/N said with a fire suddenly in her eyes. “What could Bucky offer that you can’t?”

“Everything!” Steve shouted, throwing his hands up in frustration. “He’s taller and stronger and he can protect you and take care of you and he’s got more experience and –,”

“—Shut up, Steve,” Y/N said, stalking away from him and falling back on to the couch in a huff.

“Do you really think any of those things make him better for me than you? I do not need protection and I don’t need him to take care of me. I don’t care that he’s tall or strong. None of that makes any difference.”

Steve stopped, staring at her open-mouthed. It was taking him longer than it should have to process what she was saying but eventually his brain caught up to his mouth.

“So you…are you saying that I’m—that you’re—do you feel the same way? About me?”

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes and patting the spot on the sofa beside her. Steve moved, as if in a daze, and sunk down next to her, his eyes wide. He was afraid to hope, to let himself reach those heights, but she was looking at him like maybe, just maybe—

“Of course I feel the same, Steven.”

Steve probably should have asked or at least responded with words but his body answered her before his brain could and he was kissing her again, tugging at her waist to close the distance between them, cupping her face with his hands as she wrapped her arms all the way around him and melted against his skin.

When they pulled apart, both out of breath and flushed, Steve found the words he’d meant to say when Y/N had told him she had feelings for him.

“If you…,” Steve swallowed hard, smiled and whispered, “love me, why did you cry? You looked so upset after I kissed you.” His face fell slightly as he recalled the look on Y/N’s face as she flinched away from him.

Y/N looked down at her hands. “I was afraid,” she admitted quietly. “I was afraid you were kissing me for the wrong reasons. That you were doing it because you were sad about your mother or lonely or something. And I was afraid that if you were doing it for the wrong reasons, that it would ruin our friendship. And I could handle not being you girl, Steve, but I could never handle not being your friend.”

Steve pulled her into him, pressing a feather-light kiss on her lips. “You’ll never lose me as your friend, Y/N. No matter what happens. But,” His thin face broke into a beautiful smile, his blue eyes sparkling, “I don’t see why you can’t be my girl and my friend.”

Y/N giggled, nudging Steve’s shoulder with her own. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

Steve and Y/N spent the rest of the night talking, laughing, and kissing. When the sun peeked through the dusty curtains in the apartment the following morning, Steve felt as if he’d spent the whole night in a dream while still awake. When Bucky showed up early to check on Steve, he was surprised to find Y/N still there, but his surprised was replaced with genuine joy when Steve leaned up to press a soft goodbye kiss to Y/N’s lips when she left to go home.


	2. New Year's Eve 1939

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Y/N have been best friends for years and Steve is in love with her. Y/N and Steve have been together for three years and Steve is finally ready to pop the question–on New Year’s Eve, at the swankiest party in New York. But a sudden emergency makes Steve re-think his relationship with Y/N and what she really needs in a husband…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ends in a bit of an angsty place. Sorry about that. It will improve later. I’m a sucker for a happy ending. Let me know what you think! Your comments and suggestions mean a lot to me ♥

Steve smoothed his tie nervously for the hundredth time. His best suit seemed horrendously subpar as he watched Bucky smooth his hair back and shrug on his own suit jacket. Bucky looked sleek and suave as usual. Steve glanced in the mirror again, pressing his hand down on his blonde hair to try to arrange it into something resembling well-coifed but it resisted any attempt to tame it and Steve gave up with a huff.

Bucky grinned over at him, clapping him on the shoulder.

“You look fine, pal,” he said, ruffling Steve’s hair with his right hand and causing him to groan in frustration. He lifted both hands to fix the damage Bucky had done and froze when he heard the doorbell ring.

Steve turned to Bucky, a look of horror on his face. Bucky chuckled and went to answer the door while Steve continued his fruitless attempts to make himself look presentable. He turned when he heard footsteps in the hall and found his girlfriend watching him curiously. Steve blushed hard and smiled sheepishly at Y/N. She giggled in response and ran at him, throwing her arms around Steve’s neck and spinning him with her. She pressed her red-painted lips to Steve’s cheek, leaving an imprint on his skin that she immediately wiped off with one finger.

“You look so handsome,” she murmured in his ear. Steve could almost feel his blush spread down to his neck and ears but her voice and words left a warm contentment buzzing in his chest. He held her back a bit, taking in the bright, sparkly red dress she was wearing. The dress stopped just below her knees and hugged her hips. Steve licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. Y/N didn’t miss the action and she smiled mischievously. Steve brought his eyes back up to hers.

“You look…,” Steve started but his words failed him. Y/N smiled at him and leaned down to press her mouth to his softly, eliminating the need for words. Steve pressed his hands into the small of her back, pushing her closer to him. The kiss lasted for a few seconds until the sound of Bucky clearing his throat behind them pulled them away from each other abruptly.

“I can leave if you guys need a minute,” Bucky quipped, a wide smirk on his face.

“That’s okay, Bucky,” Y/N said casually, pulling away from Steve but leaving her hand in his. “We’ll have plenty of time alone later.”

Steve was fairly sure the blush under his skin was a permanent tattoo at this point. Bucky laughed. “Well, then let’s get going. The party of a lifetime is waiting, the new year is almost here, and I need to find me someone to kiss at midnight.”

The subway was crowded with partygoers like them, dressed in their best, some of them already boozed up. Y/N held Steve’s hand tightly while Bucky chatted up a pretty redhead in a blue dress nearby. Steve’s other hand was stuffed deep in his pocket, enclosed around a small velvet box that contained a diamond ring he’d bought months ago with the money he’d saved flipping burgers at Hamilton’s Diner and selling his sketches down by the pier. It was a small diamond on a simple gold band but it was everything he had to give and he hoped desperately that it would be enough. He and Y/N had been going steady for three years, and while they had been the best three years of his life, it pained Steve that he hadn’t been able to propose sooner.

Tonight Bucky had invited them to a New Year’s Eve party at the Savoy Ballroom and Steve had been unable to decline when he’d seen the gleam in Y/N’s eyes when Bucky brought it up. Bucky had offered to pay for their tickets and subway fare into the city (though Steve had argued this with him incessantly until Bucky had finally agreed to split the cost with him). Y/N loved dancing and the Savoy was the glitziest, most glamorous dance club in New York. It was also the perfect setting for Steve to propose and though his stomach was twisted in knots at the thought of finally asking her, he knew he was ready.

Lenox Avenue was crowded with people, the sidewalks lined with fancy, gleaming cars. Bucky led them easily through the crowd, then told them, in a voice loud enough to carry over the throngs of people surrounding them, to wait while he got the tickets. Steve and Y/N stepped towards the wall of the Savoy. Y/N looked excited, her eyes bright as she took in the people gathering around them. Strains of music filtered past the doors of the Savoy. Steve wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist, taking advantage of Bucky’s absence to pull her into him and bring her mouth to his. Y/N lifted her hands and buried them in Steve’s hair and he found himself unable to care that she was messing up the work he’d put into it earlier. With her body pressed to his and her lips parting to let him in, the world faded away. He could’ve stayed with her like that for an eternity but Bucky returned, making a joke about them saving it for midnight, and ushered them past the line of people and through the large double door entrance.

The main ballroom was packed with people but it had not deterred them from dancing. Steve kept his hand firmly wrapped around Y/N as Bucky cut through the crowd and led them to an empty table near the back of the room. Steve was surprised that there were tables available at all but as the majority of the crowd was on their feet, he assumed tables were not as high a priority.

Steve pulled Y/N’s chair out for her, helping her out of her coat and draping it over the spare seat at the table. He sat beside her, closer to the wall and watched the partygoers sway and spin to the Glen Miller tune the band was playing. Y/N tapped her foot in time, a smile playing across her lips. Bucky had already disappeared into the mass of people to find someone to dance with and Steve felt a pang in his gut as he realized Y/N was probably waiting for him to ask her to dance too. He bit his lip, knowing full well that dancing was neither his strong suit nor physically feasible for him. His lungs struggled enough without the added exertion but he wanted Y/N to be happy. He scooted forward on his chair and covered her hand with his own. She turned sideways in her seat and beamed at him.

“Isn’t is wonderful, Steve!” she said, leaning forward to speak into his ear. He nodded, smiling weakly. She wove her fingers with his, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek before turning back to watch the dancers. Steve bit his lip nervously.

“Y/N,” he said, too softly for her to hear over the music. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Y/N!” he called and she turned to look at him, confusion on her face.

“What’s wrong, Steve?”

“Uh…,” Steve began, the sound getting lost amidst the din of noise. He considered gesturing for her to follow him somewhere quieter but he didn’t want to lose the table or pull her away from the excitement. He shook his head, changing his mind. She stared at him quizzically but he smiled reassuringly and nodded towards the dance floor. Y/N turned back, a smile forming on her lips as the band changed pace, the new song slower and quieter. Steve considered trying his luck with the slow song when a tall, young man walked up to their table.

“Care to dance, beautiful?” the young man said to Y/N, a smirk on his face. Steve felt a twinge of jealousy pull at his heart. Y/N shook her head, still smiling.

“No thanks. I’m here with my guy,” she said politely, gesturing to Steve. The young man looked skeptically at Steve, then back at Y/N.

“Just one dance, angel. I promise I’ll bring you back to your—,” he paused, sweeping his eyes disdainfully over Steve, “—boyfriend.”

The young man’s tone seemed to bother Y/N, who squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, ready to retort, but Steve stopped her with a gentle hand on the small of her back. She turned to look at him.

“Go on,” he murmured, smiling at her. “You love dancing and I—it’s not my strong suit. Go on, I don’t mind.”

“But Steve—,” Y/N began to protest but the young man was already pulling her to her feet.

“Come on, gorgeous. You heard him. Time’s a-wastin’.”

Steve frowned at the man who grinned back at him. Y/N followed him reluctantly, turning to glance at Steve in concern. Steve shook his head gently, keeping his smile casual and unperturbed, fighting not to let the jealousy that was ripping him to shreds show in his face. He watched the man pull Y/N close, swaying her to the music. Y/N rigidly held her body away from him, keeping space between them. Her eyes met Steve’s from afar and he nodded at her, still smiling. Eventually, Y/N relaxed into the dance and Steve turned his gaze away, finding it hard to watch.

He traced the patterns on the tablecloth, berating himself for being so useless. How could he ask Y/N to marry him? What did he have to offer? He had no money, no prospects, and no upper body strength. He couldn’t protect her or support her. Why had he been foolish enough to think she would marry him?

Steve was jolted out of his somber thoughts by a rough hand on his shoulder. He looked up to find Bucky standing next to him, a pretty blonde girl standing a little further back, looking on in concern.

“What is it, Buck?”

“Where’s Y/N?” Bucky said, his voice panicked.

“Relax, Bucky,” Steve said. “She’s dancing with some fella over there.” Steve pointed to the spot on the dance floor where he’d last seen her but she and her dancing partner were no longer there. Steve stood up quickly, scanning the crowded room for some sign of her, of her sparkly red dress or of the tall man who’d whisked her away but there was no sight of them. He turned his eyes back to Bucky, who was frowning.

“Come on,” he said, tugging on Steve’s jacket sleeve. “We need to find her.”

Bucky turned to the blonde girl. “Sorry, doll. Maybe some other time. Somethin’ I gotta do right now.”

The girl looked disappointed but Steve didn’t have time to consider it as he raced after Bucky into the cold Manhattan air, Y/N’s coat in his hands. He glanced up and down Lenox Avenue but there were so many people in the streets it was impossible to distinguish one from the next.

“You take that side,” Bucky said, pointing to the west. “I’ll look that way. You find her, you holler, okay? Don’t get into a fight you can’t finish!” The last part of his sentence was a shout as Steve had already taken off down the street.

Steve checked every side street and alley, doubling back twice but there was no sign of Y/N. He was beginning to get short of breath and he stopped, hands on his knees, doubled over, trying to catch his breath. The streets this far west were quieter. Most partygoers had piled up somewhere to await the countdown to midnight. He was just about to resume his search when he heard a shout coming from a nearby alley. He turned in that direction, listening closely. His heart dropped into his stomach when he heard Y/N’s voice.

“Get off me!”

Steve ran towards the sound, not bothering to look for Bucky. He skidded to a halt at the mouth of the alley and the air was sucked out of him swiftly when he saw Y/N and the tall man she’d been dancing with pressed into a corner, her back against the hard brick wall, his hands roaming over her hips. Steve bolted forward, not sure what he was going to do, but knowing he had to do something. He shot his hand out and caught the man’s arm, yanking him back as hard as he could.

“What the—,” the man said, turning around. “Well, if it isn’t little Stevie,” he said mockingly. “Y/N here told me all about you. You gonna fight me, Stevie? Huh?”

The man pushed Steve hard in the center of his chest, knocking him backward. He advanced on Steve, fists balled at his sides, a look of menace on his face. Steve scrambled back to his feet and held up his fists but he wasn’t fast enough and the man caught him square in the jaw. The punch knocked him back again and he held his hand to his lip. He was bleeding. He straightened himself again, fists in front of him and took a swing. The man dodged it easily, knocking him hard in the gut, taking the wind out Steve’s lungs.

“What kind of man can’t fight for his girl, huh?” the man mocked, laughing as Steve wheezed and tried to pick himself back up. “You ain’t a man, you’re a mouse.”

“Leave him alone!” Y/N cried, flinging herself at her assailant, hitting him hard on the side of the head with her purse. The man flung his arm backward, catching her in the stomach and sending her flying back. He turned back to finish Steve off, but a sound at the end of the alley caught his attention.

Bucky was running towards them, shedding his suit jacket and rolling up his shirtsleeves. He sailed past Steve and threw a hard right hook at the man’s face.

“Get outta here,” he said, breathing heavily and rubbing his knuckles as the man swiped his hand over his jaw. “Or that won’t be the worst you get from me.”

The man scowled at Bucky and glanced back at Y/N. “Dame ain’t worth it anyway,” he mumbled and shoved past Bucky. Steve watched him go, still struggling to catch his breath. Bucky held his hand out to him and Steve took it, groaning as he stood. A warm body collided with his as Y/N threw her arms around his neck and laid frantic kisses on his face.

“Are you okay?” she murmured between kisses. He nodded and placed his hands on her waist, pushing her away. “M’fine,” he said.

Y/N looked at Bucky, who was bending down to pick her coat up off the floor. He dusted it off with his hand and gave it to her. She took it with a grateful smile and shrugged into it, then reached for Steve’s hand. He took it hesitantly.

“Let’s get you home and cleaned up, okay?” she said gently. He grimaced.

“It’s New Year’s. We’re gonna miss the countdown—,” he protested weakly.

“There’s always next year,” Y/N said. “I don’t mind.”

Bucky had rejoined them, his suit jacket thrown over his shoulder. Y/N frowned at him.

“Aren’t you cold, Bucky?”

Bucky shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “Nothing like a good fight to keep you warm. C’mon, doll. Let’s go home.”

The ride back to Brooklyn was quiet and the subway was mostly empty. When they reached Steve’s apartment, Bucky tried to insist on staying with him for the night. Steve refused, claiming that he was fine and didn’t need to be babysat.

“Go home, Buck. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Steve said firmly, nudging Bucky out the door. Bucky frowned and glanced past Steve to where Y/N stood. She nodded at him silently and he shrugged, turning and walking down the apartment stairway and out of sight.

Steve shut the door and released a deep sigh. His lip still throbbed and his lungs were still recovering. He felt Y/N’s hands on his shoulders and turned to look at her.

“You should go home too, Y/N. It’s late.”

“Not a chance, Rogers,” she said. “Besides, that lip needs tending to.”

“I’m fine!” Steve yelled abruptly, startling Y/N. She released his shoulders and took a step back. Steve buried his face in his hands momentarily, took a deep breath, and looked back up at her.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m just tired. I’ll sleep on the couch. You can take the bed.”

He shuffled past her, shrugging out of his suit jacket and collapsing on the sunken couch. Y/N watched him quietly, not moving from where she stood. Steve glanced back at her.

“I swear I’m fi—,” Steve started to say.

“—If you tell me you’re fine one more time, Steven Rogers, I’ll see to it personally that you aren’t!”

Steve bit his lip. Y/N moved to stand in front of him and held her hand out. “Come to bed,” she ordered. Steve swallowed hard and shook his head.

“Steve—,” Y/N started to protest but Steve quieted her with a look.

“If you’re gonna stay, you’ll sleep in there,” he said, his voice low and grave, pointing to the bedroom. “If not, you should go home.”

Y/N blinked, her eyes suddenly filled with tears. She couldn’t fathom why Steve was suddenly being so cold. It was so unlike him. She sat beside him on the couch, reaching for his hand, folded in his lap.

“Steve, what’s wrong? Please talk to me,” she said softly. She pulled his hand into her lap, intertwining their fingers. “Don’t push me away.”

Steve stared at their joined hands in Y/N’s lap, his brow furrowed, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. He pulled his hand away slowly.

“Go to sleep, Y/N. Please. I need to be alone right now.”

He heard a soft sob escape her lips and felt his heart break in his chest. He hated doing this to her, but he had no choice. Tonight had made one thing evident: Y/N deserved better than a mouse who couldn’t protect her. If he couldn’t take care of her, the least he could do was set her free so that she could find someone who would.

He felt her weight leave the couch, heard the swish of her coat as she put it back on and the creak of the door as she left. The silence that followed her exit pressed down on Steve and he curled into a ball on the couch, waiting for sleep to claim him. It never did.


	3. January 1940 - July 4, 1940

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Y/N have been best friends for years and Steve is in love with her. Seven months pass from the time Steve breaks up with Y/N. The threat of war with Germany continues to loom on the horizon and Steve attempts to move on with his broken heart. Bucky insists that Steve try to mend fences but Steve is sure he made the right choice in staying away. A confrontation with Y/N leaves him feeling even worse than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear there’s happy stuff coming, but what’s happy without a little angst and heartbreak on the way? Also, meddling matchmaker Bucky is literally my favorite thing ever.

January 1940

Steve trudged up the sidewalk to his apartment, his limbs heavy from a long work day. The street was quiet, thankfully, and no one had tried to rough him up on the way home. He was looking forward to sleeping—the only pastime he was ever interested in these days. He pulled himself up the stairs to his front door and stumbled through, falling back against the heavy wood of the door as it shut.

Steve had not heard from Y/N or Bucky in several weeks and he preferred it that way. He knew he would have to deal with the fallout of New Year’s Eve’s events at some point but he was content avoiding that for as long as possible.

News of the new war was everywhere and nowhere. Most people were so caught up in surviving day-to-day that they couldn’t be bothered with what was going on overseas. But the whisper of war was on every corner. In general, people in Steve’s neighborhood were content with America’s decision to stay out of it. After the Great War, the last thing they needed was another stand-off with Germany. But as tensions increased and word spread of Hitler’s march against the rest of the world, Steve started to wonder if staying out of it was the right thing to do.

Regardless, the country had chosen neutrality and its citizens focused on re-strengthening the economy after the market crash in ’29. And Steve focused on trying to forget the last three years with Y/N. At the rate he was going, the economy’s odds of recovery looked a lot better.

Bucky finally appeared near the end of the month. Steve found him leaning against the frame of his front door, still in his work clothes. He raised one eyebrow at him but was silent until Steve unlocked the front door. Bucky followed him in, watched him collapse on the sofa, and pull off his shoes.

“How ya been, Stevie?”

Steve grimaced. He hated when Bucky called him that.

“M’fine.”

“Yeah, that’s what Y/N said. She said you yelled it at her, that’s how fine you were. What’s going on, Steve? One minute you’re ready to propose to her, next minute you’re breaking it off without even a good reason?” Bucky sat on the arm of the sofa, arms crossed. Steve scowled at him.

“It’s none of your business, Bucky. I said I was fine. Why can’t everyone just let it be?”

“You’re being an ass.”

“Funny, I don’t remember asking you.”

Bucky huffed out a frustrated breath and stood up. He looked uncertain, pacing back and forth in front of the couch. Steve followed him with his eyes, not saying anything.

“Steve,” Bucky finally said, ceasing his movement. “You’re my best friend. But so is Y/N. And she’s in pain. Pain that you are causing. And if you’ve got a good reason, pal, then you should talk to her. She deserves that much.”

Bucky walked back to the front door. “That’s all I’m gonna say on it. I’ll see you around.”

In his absence the room seemed darker, the shadow of his words covering the furniture and walls and Steve, where he sat, miserable and angry.

March 1940

“Mr. Miller, please—I need this job.”

“A lot of people need jobs right now, Rogers. That doesn’t make this any less necessary.”

Steve scrambled to keep up with the owner of the diner as he dropped plates of food at different tables.

“The fact is, you move slower than any of my other waiters, you’re sick all the time and need people to cover your shifts constantly,” Miller said, without glancing back. Steve opened his mouth to respond, but Miller stopped him.

“I know it’s not your fault, Rogers. But I can’t afford to pay everyone, so I gotta make cuts somewhere. I’m sorry.”

Miller disappeared into the kitchen and Steve watched him go, his heart sinking into his stomach. Without this job, he’d never be able to afford to stay in his apartment. His mother’s apartment. It was the last tie to her he had. Steve swiped a hand over his hair, pushing his bangs back. He was beginning to draw attention from the customers, standing motionless in the middle of the restaurant. Steve pulled off his apron, dumped it on the bar counter and walked out.

He made his way past the diner and his apartment, his feet carrying him of their own accord, unaware of where he was actually going until he was standing outside of Bucky’s house. He shivered, suddenly aware of how cold it was. He climbed the steps to the front door, hesitated, then knocked.

The door swung open immediately and Steve’s heart dropped even further.

“Y/N?”

There she was, standing in the doorway of Bucky’s apartment, her hands halfway through buttoning her coat. She stared at Steve for a moment, then stood back, giving him room to enter. Steve stepped in and past her and Bucky appeared from seemingly nowhere, clapping him hard on the shoulder.

“Hey Steve!” he said, in a voice that Steve imagined was supposed to be casual but fell slightly short. “Y/N here just stopped by to…to…”

“I was just leaving,” Y/N said meekly. “Thanks for everything, Bucky.”

She spared one last glance at Steve, who determinedly kept his gaze fixed on the floor, then left, a rush of cold air blowing past her before the door closed. Bucky let out a long sigh.

“You still haven’t dealt with that, have you?”

Steve frowned at him and Bucky held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! I’ll keep my mouth shut. But what are you doing here in the middle of the day? Didn’t you have to work?”

“Miller fired me,” Steve muttered, rubbing his hands over his arms in a futile attempt to warm himself. He could feel a cough coming on but he was fighting it. “Said he couldn’t afford to keep paying me.”

The cough finally caught up with him and he doubled over, hacking and wheezing. Bucky steered him gingerly to the couch and sat beside him, waiting patiently until Steve caught his breath.

“Walking around in the cold without a damn coat,” Bucky muttered. “It’s like you’re asking for it.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve rasped. “I can always count on you to lift my spirits.”

“You can always count on me,” Bucky corrected. “You might not always like what I have to say.”

“I won’t be able to stay in Ma’s place,” Steve said quietly. Silence followed his statement and he snuck a look at Bucky’s face. There was a mix of sympathy and frustration in his features and Steve looked away, unable to stomach the pity in his eyes.

“You know you can come stay here. My place is your place.”

Steve nodded. Bucky stood up and walked into his bedroom to grab blankets and a spare pillow. Steve chewed on his lip, debating whether or not to ask the question burning in his mind. When Bucky reappeared, it came tumbling out of Steve’s mouth before he could think it through.

“Why was she here, Buck?”

Bucky froze in the middle of setting the pile of blankets on the coffee table. He stood up straight, turned and tossed Steve one of the blankets, then sank back down on the couch.

“She’s lonely, Steve,” he said. “She used to have two best friends, now she has one and a broken heart. She’s not handling it well.”

Steve twisted his hands in his lap. “Neither am I,” he said quietly.

“You should talk to her.”

“I can’t.”

Bucky shook his head. “I said I wasn’t gonna get involved, but Jesus, Steve. This affects me too, ya know? You can’t just shut her out. It isn’t fair.”

“She’s better off,” Steve said resolutely. “She’ll get over it eventually.”

Bucky did not reply but Steve could feel disapproval radiating off of him. He decided to change the subject. 

“So…you gonna help me move?”

June 1940

Tensions overseas continued to increase. Italy had declared war on the Allies and France had surrendered to Germany. The Luftwaffe was moving in on British territory and still, America stayed out of it.

Meanwhile, Steve waged his own war, mostly with himself. He found he lacked the desire to draw and had stopped trying to muster any. A friend of Bucky’s had procured him a job in a textile factory, though the factory foreman seemed doubtful at best that Steve would be able to operate any of the machinery.

Living with Bucky proved easier than Steve had anticipated, mostly because Bucky seemed to be home less and less lately. He left early in the morning for work and usually didn’t return home until long past midnight. Steve considered confronting him about it but thought better of it. Bucky was a grown man—he hardly owed Steve an explanation.

Overall, Steve was mostly surviving. As the weather warmed, his cough faded and physically he felt stronger, more capable. But his heart ached constantly, the absence of Y/N from his life casting a shadow over his day-to-day activities. They still hadn’t spoken and Steve hadn’t seen her since his run-in with her in March. He thought about her daily, wondering if she was happy, if she’d started dating again. The thought of her with someone else made him physically ill but he repeated his mantra that it was for the best, and most days, he believed that.

 

July 4, 1940

Steve turned twenty-two on a stifling Thursday, the hottest day of the year so far. He’d rejected Bucky’s offer to go catch a movie and opted instead for overtime hours at the factory. As a result, Steve found himself exhausted and sore on his makeshift bed in Bucky’s living room, staring at the ceiling in the dark, hoping to sleep the rest of his birthday away.

The sound of knocking at the front door pulled a groan from his lips and he gingerly sat up and limped to answer it.

His stomach flipped over. Y/N was standing in front of him, holding a wrapped cake on a plate in both hands. She was wearing a summer dress, polka-dotted and tight, and Steve felt as though his heart was pushing against his ribcage as its beating sped up.

“Wha—what are you doing here?” Steve asked, realizing too late how impolite he sounded. Y/N’s eyes flickered to the ground and then back up at him, a small smile on her pink lips.

“It’s your birthday,” she said softly. “You didn’t think I’d forgotten, did you?”

Steve gaped at her, marveling at the fact that she somehow looked more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her. His limbs ached to reach out to her, pull her in, press his mouth to hers. Instead, he stood back, giving her room to walk past him and into the living room. He could smell her perfume as she passed; lavender and vanilla. She set the cake down on the coffee table and turned back to where he was still standing, holding the door open.

“Are you gonna join me?”

Steve shut the door, as if in a haze. He walked back towards her but stopped far enough away that she was out of arm’s reach. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly and Steve had to resist the urge to kiss her expression away, as he’d done so many times before.

“How have you been?” she asked gently, fiddling nervously with her hair, her dress, her fingers. She was unused to being in the same room with him without touching him. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself.

“Fine,” Steve replied robotically, then wished he hadn’t. Images of that horrible New Year’s Eve night flashed in his brain and he winced. “Good. Busy,” he corrected.

She bit her lip and he stuffed his hands in his pockets, not trusting himself to keep his hands off of her. The longer she stood there, the more ardent the urge to touch her became. She nodded and took a step forward, towards Steve. He took a step back instinctively and her face fell.

“Steve…,” she murmured, tears filling her eyes. “I miss you.”

Steve fought back his own tears and cleared the lump in his throat. “Thanks for the cake,” he offered lamely. “It looks good. Did your mom make it?”

Y/N frowned in confusion. “Bucky didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Y/N looked down at her shoes and then back up at Steve. “Mom died. A couple of weeks ago. Bucky’s been helping me pack everything up. I found a smaller apartment I can afford. I thought—,” she paused, biting her lip again, “—I thought for sure he’d told you.”

Steve crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. She clung to him like a lifeline, tears pooling into the fabric of his shirt. He raked one hand through her hair, keeping his other arm firmly in place around her waist. He was certain she could feel his heart hammering against his chest but he didn’t care.

The hug lasted forever and not long enough. She pulled back from him slowly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She gave him a watery smile and leaned in again, brushing her lips against his. The contact sent a jolt of heat through his veins and he sighed into the kiss, momentarily forgetting the reason he’d broken up with her in the first place, the reason he’d kept himself away for seven months. She pressed her mouth harder to his and as he felt her hands tangle in his shirt front, his eyes snapped open. He pulled away from her, wrenching her hand off him and stepping back several paces. She looked like he’d physically slapped her and it took all the strength he had to stay where he was.

“Y/N,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “I’m sorry about your mom. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. But—,” he sucked in a deep breath, “I can’t be with you. Not like that. Not anymore.”

“But why?” Her voice cracked when she spoke but she was angry now, and it helped. Anger was easier, hurt less. He could face her wrath. He could not bear her sadness.

“Steve, you can’t just call things off after three years—three years—and not explain why. I thought you loved me. I thought—,” she stopped, tears choking her words, but she gathered herself and continued, “—I thought we were going to get married. I wanted to. And then you just…disappeared and Bucky wouldn’t tell me anything and you wouldn’t answer my calls and I just—”

It became too much for her at that point and she buried her face in her hands, sobs lifting her shoulders and dropping them rapidly. Steve pressed his nails into his palms to keep himself where he was. Every bone in his body wanted to comfort her, to soothe her tears away, to promise her he’d never leave her again. But the memory of the alley and his bloody lip and that man’s hands on her hips while he stood by helplessly returned to him and he couldn’t move.

“I just…,” he said weakly. “I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

The silence in the room was like dead weight, pushing down on his shoulders. Both of them stood, on opposites sides of the same room, but a million miles apart.

She moved first, picking up her purse and walking past Steve briskly. She paused at the door, facing away from him and when she spoke her voice was muffled against the wood but Steve heard her loud and clear.

“Do you love me at all anymore?”

The question was a like a knife in his chest. It hurt even worse because he knew the answer he had to give the moment the words left her lips.

“No.”

The door opened and closed again and she was gone, leaving Steve where he stood, rooted to the spot until the sun set in the room and covered him in darkness.


	4. September 1940 - December 1940

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Y/N have been best friends for years and Steve is in love with her. In September of 1940, President Roosevelt enacts a peacetime draft and Steve begins to set his sights on the future. The holidays bring a special mix of heartbreak and loss of hope and Y/N may have reached the end of her rope with Steve…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Steve more or less loses his damn mind here and Bucky is back as the adorable meddling friend…I swear there are better times coming for Steve and reader…at some point…

September 1940

They called it a “peacetime draft” but no one was fooled. On September 16, President Franklin signed the Selective Training and Service Act into existence and young men from the age of 21 to 45 were required to register. It was meant to be a precaution, but with Churchill and Britain flailing under Hitler’s crusade, the odds of the precaution becoming reality were stacked against them. 

Steve, for his part, was excited about the draft. His father had served in the Great War and he’d died for his country—a hero’s death. His mother had been a nurse in the field when they’d met. Steve was a child of war and he believed that serving in this one would make him the man he knew he was meant to be. He filled out his registration card with trembling fingers, nervously scribbling in his medical history, wondering if his laundry list of ailments would affect any decision to enlist him. Surely it wouldn’t, he thought. Surely the United States government would take into account his father’s service, his mother’s service, and the fact that Steve wanted to serve. That he was willing and prepared to die for his country. 

Bucky watched Steve labor over his registration forms, a worrisome gleam in his eye. He’d reluctantly filled out his own and mailed it back, praying the day when a draft was needed would never come. Not for himself—Bucky would face whatever those Nazi scum wanted to throw his way—but for Steve. The damn kid was too eager. He’d always been the kind to throw himself into a fight without thinking and it had ended badly more than once. He wasn’t built for war, for blood and guts and death. He was an artist, for chrissake. The callouses on his thin fingers were from pencils not weapons and if it were up to Bucky, it would stay that way.   
The draft was the first sign of life Steve had exhibited since his birthday. Bucky knew Y/N had come to see him and he suspected they’d finally had the conversation that was long overdue but Steve had become even more withdrawn and lifeless since then. He refused to speak about it, even when pressed. He spent most of his time outside of work laying on Bucky’s couch, barely eating or sleeping. He hadn’t touched his sketchbook in months. Bucky attempted to pull him out of his self-imposed apathy but nothing seemed to work and he eventually stopped trying. 

November 1940

News of air raids in Britain filled the airwaves and papers. A bombing in Liverpool. A raid in Southampton, then Bristol, then Birmingham. The Germans were circling London and it was only a matter of time until the capital was under siege. 

Thanksgiving had once been Steve’s favorite holiday. His mother would save her wages for weeks beforehand and buy all of Steve’s favorite holiday foods—turkey and stuffing, corn and potatoes. Fresh baked rolls and steamed carrots. And for dessert, his mother’s famous pumpkin pie, topped with fresh whipped cream. During better times, Bucky would stop by with his sisters in the afternoon and Y/N with her parents. There was laughter and food and for one day they would forget the things that dimmed their lives on a daily basis and hope filled the air like sweet perfume. 

After his mother’s death, the holiday seemed bleaker, but Bucky and Y/N had made sure he didn’t spend it alone. 

This year, Y/N had offered to host Thanksgiving for Bucky and his family. Without her parents and Steve in her life she needed something to keep her from falling into despair and cooking for Bucky’s family seemed like just the distraction she wanted. 

She had considered inviting Steve in spite of their falling out. She knew how much the holiday had meant to him while his mother was alive and she hated the idea of him spending it alone. But Steve refused to answer her calls and though Bucky delivered the invitation in person, Steve didn’t show up that day. 

In truth, Steve had begun to suspect that Y/N and Bucky had finally found their way to dating each other. Bucky spent most of his free time with her, in large part because Steve was hardly good company these days. Regardless, there was a happy glow on Bucky’s face whenever he came home and a spring in his step when he left in the morning and Steve knew first-hand the influence Y/N could have on a man when she was in love. He was hardly surprised, but the thought of Bucky’s hands on her skin, of his lips on her neck—the thought that her smile belonged to someone else now—was just one more weight on Steve’s already fractured heart. 

He had no right to be jealous, he rationalized. He had let her go and for good reason. But Bucky was—had been—his best friend. He’d expected him to honor that friendship where Y/N was concerned, to keep her off limits in that area, if only to save Steve’s feelings. The more he thought about it, the more it felt like a betrayal, the more it festered in his brain and left him with an inconsolable rage itching under his skin. Their close quarters became a powder keg and finally, after a long day at work, when Bucky came strolling through the front door at half past one in the morning, presumably from Y/N’s apartment, Steve lit the fuse. 

“You know you could let me know when you’re gonna be comin’ home this late,” Steve snapped as Bucky pulled his jacket off and hung it up. “The door wakes me up.”

Bucky frowned at him in the low light of the living room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we’d gotten married. I’ll be sure to keep you posted, dear.” 

Steve stood abruptly, anger coursing through his veins. He was looking for a fight, for any reason to tell Bucky exactly how he felt. 

“It’s called consideration, jerk,” he said through gritted teeth. “I live here too.”

“I recall,” Bucky said, his tone still flippant. He walked into the kitchen, ignoring Steve’s rigid stance. Steve heard him rummage through the cupboards and put a pot of coffee on. He stomped after him. 

“Where were you?” he demanded, fists balled at his sides. Bucky regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

“I was out. Don’t see how it’s any of your business where I was.”

“You were with Y/N, weren’t you?” Steve snapped back, his voice rising an octave. “You’ve been seeing her haven’t you? Behind my back?”

Bucky finally turned to face Steve, his expression dark. “Back off, Steve. I don’t wanna have this fight.”

“Why not?” Steve said, walking forward and shoving Bucky hard in the chest. He stumbled back slightly, more out of surprise than anything else. 

“What’s your problem, kid?” Bucky growled, stepping towards Steve menacingly. The smaller man did not budge. 

“I’m not a kid!” Steve yelled, shoving Bucky again, but this time he was ready. He grabbed Steve’s arms and pinned them to his sides, leaning forward so that their faces were nose to nose.

“You need to calm down. Because if you start this fight, I will finish it.” Bucky spoke slowly and quietly, which only served to enrage Steve further. Bucky released him and Steve pulled his arm back and snapped it forward, his fist connecting with Bucky’s jaw. A sharp pain radiated back into his hand and he let out a loud yelp. 

“You idiot,” Bucky grumbled, rubbing his jaw. “Didn’t I teach you how to throw a punch?”

He stepped forward to examine Steve’s hand. He pressed down lightly on his knuckles and Steve hissed in pain. Bucky shook his head. “Broken. Nice work. You’re the only person I know who does more damage to himself in a fight than to the other guy.” 

Steve let Bucky steer him out of the kitchen and into his jacket. “Come on,” he said, donning his own jacket. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”

 

Steve had fractured his knuckle and the doctor placed a splint on his finger and advised him not to get into any fights for a couple of months. By the time he and Bucky had made it back home, the sun was starting to rise and Steve’s heart sank when he realized he would more than likely lose his job at the factory without the use of his hand. 

“Hey, cheer up,” Bucky said bracingly. “Pretty sure you left a decent bruise on my jaw.”

Steve did not look at him, staring instead at the threadbare rug under the coffee table. “Are you seeing Y/N, Buck?”

“This again?” Bucky said, annoyed. “Christ, Steve. That you actually think I would do that to you is upsetting.”

Steve lifted his head at that. “What?”

Bucky shook his head, raking a hand through his hair. “I haven’t been seeing Y/N or sneaking around with her or whatever you think I’m doing,” he said. “I’ve been,” he paused, nervous now, “with another girl. We go dancing and then back to her place and well—” He stopped there, a blush creeping up his neck. “She’s real swell but I’ve got a reputation, Stevie. I didn’t want it getting around that I was…going steady.”

Steve snorted, relief flooding his system. He was still in pain but the discovery that Bucky was not, in fact, upholding his “reputation” with Y/N made him giddy. 

“Stop grinnin’ like a fool,” Bucky snapped. “Just ‘cause I’m not with her don’t mean someone else ain’t. You set a girl like that free, she’s bound to be picked up by someone.”

Steve’s face fell. Bucky was right. 

“She tell you ‘bout anyone else?”

“Nope,” Bucky said, heading to his bedroom. He paused in the doorway to look back at Steve. “But that don’t mean they ain’t around.”

December 1940

The holidays were approaching but with the fighting overseas escalating daily, the mood around town was dismal. There was a muted quality to the usual festivities and it was not lost on Steve that this would be the first Christmas in ten years that he would not spend with Y/N. 

Bucky had called it quits with his late-night girl (“She wants me around all the time,” he’d told Steve, rolling his eyes. “It’s like we’re already married and who wants that?”) Steve had managed to get his job at the diner back, if only for a few hours a week. He picked up shifts other people didn’t want and managed to scrape enough money together on weekly basis to keep himself fed. 

Bucky’s mother was making Christmas dinner and insisted that Bucky bring Steve with him on the premise that she hadn’t seen him for months and was worried he wasn’t eating properly. Steve had reservations about accepting but Bucky insisted, arguing that Steve was family, “and family should be together on Christmas.” 

Steve was not prepared, however, to find himself face to face with Y/N, wearing the same red dress she’d worn New Year’s Eve last year. Her hair was pinned up and curled and her lips were cherry red to match her dress and Steve nearly bolted when he saw her. He was impeded only by Bucky, pulling him by the neck into the Barnes’ small living room and muttering in his ear to be nice. Bucky deposited him by the couch then left to help his mother in the kitchen. Steve glared after him but quickly rearranged his expression when Y/N walked over.

“Hello Steve,” she said, her tone rigid and impersonal. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” he replied, forcing down the panic in his chest. “You look nice.”

It was a horrible understatement. She looked magnificent, resplendent, incomparable. But he couldn’t say that. Not now. Not with so much unspoken between them. 

She smiled coldly and walked away and Steve watched her go, hating himself with every fiber of his being. He sunk into an armchair, resigned to remain there until dinner was served. 

Bucky had other plans for him. 

“Hey Steve! Why don’t you and Y/N set the table?” he called from the doorway of the kitchen. Steve aimed another glare his way then glanced at Y/N, who was doing the same. She accepted the stack of plates Bucky held out to her and moved to the dining table. Steve pulled silverware and napkins from the wooden hutch in the dining room and followed her around the table, silently placing forks and knives beside every plate she laid down. She kept her back to him the whole time and when the table was set she walked away quickly, going to stand on the fire escape outside the living room window. Steve heaved a deep sigh and retreated back to his armchair. 

“Go talk to her,” Bucky was suddenly whispering in his ear. Steve looked up at him and frowned. 

“You should have told me she’d be here.”

“So you could skip out on another holiday dinner?” Bucky snapped. “No way. It’s Christmas, Steve. This is the perfect time to mend fences.”

“Stop using Christmas as a reason for everything,” Steve griped, rolling his eyes. “She doesn’t want to talk to me.” 

“And whose fault is that?” Bucky whispered emphatically. “Look, this ridiculous feud has gone on long enough, don’t you think? Just apologize so we can all move on.”

“Let it go, Buck,” Steve whispered back. “Please.”

Bucky threw his hands up in frustration and walked away. Steve stood up and walked to the front door, intending to get some air but Bucky’s mother stopped him. 

“You’re not leaving, are you Steven? Dinner’s nearly done.”

“No Mrs. Barnes,” Steve said, offering her a small smile. “Just need some air.” 

“Well, take your coat,” she said, brushing her hands on her checkered apron. “You’ll catch your death out there.”

 

Bucky watched him walk out and decided to be proactive. He cornered Y/N on the fire escape, a deceptively innocent smile on his face. 

“What do you want, James Barnes?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“For you and Steve to stop being stupid.”

Y/N frowned at him. “I’m not being stupid. He’s the one who stopped talking to me for no reason and who still hasn’t explained himself. I’m just following his lead.”

“Something’s gotta give, Y/N,” Bucky almost whined. “This is getting out of hand.”

“He told me he doesn’t love me anymore, Bucky. What am I supposed to do?”

Bucky stared at her blankly, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. 

“That doesn’t follow,” he said at last. “Steve’s nuts about you.”

“Apparently not anymore,” Y/N said, crossing her arms against her chest. “And I’m tired of fighting for someone who doesn’t want me.”

At her mention of fighting, Bucky’s eyes widened. The realization hit him like a train—the real reason Steve had withdrawn from Y/N so suddenly last year. The fight in the alley. The look on his face when Bucky had pulled him off the floor had been more than defeat—it had been self-loathing. Steve hated not being able to defend himself properly, which was why he constantly threw himself into fights he couldn’t handle. He felt like he had something to prove. But not being able to defend Y/N? That would have wounded his ego in a fresh, new, painful way. And he’d pulled away, probably telling himself that he was doing her a favor. Because that was Steve in a nutshell. Stubborn self-sacrifice no matter the cost. 

Y/N was staring at Bucky, perplexed by the wide-eyed expression on his face. 

“Bucky? Are you okay?”

Bucky’s eyes refocused. And he grinned, a bright smile that spread from the center of his lips to the corners of his face. 

“He didn’t mean it,” he said, grabbing Y/N’s shoulders excitedly. “Of course he loves you. It doesn’t make a lick of sense, I know, but he thought he was doing the right thing, letting you go. I swear. You gotta talk to him, make him see you two are meant for each other.”

Y/N wrenched herself from his grip. “It doesn’t matter what his reason was anymore, Bucky. What he did—shutting me out like that, treating me like I was nobody, like my feelings didn’t matter—it was too much. Too much damage done.”

She walked back into the living room and Bucky followed her, intent on making her listen but Steve walked back in to the house at that moment and both of them froze. Y/N bit her lip as her eyes locked with Steve’s and she turned back to Bucky. 

“There’s nothing left to do, Buck. I don’t think there’s anything that can bring us back together now.”


	5. December 31st, 1940

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Y/N have been best friends for years and Steve is in love with her. New Year’s Eve 1940 seems like a good time to start over, doesn’t it? Well, Steve seems to thinks so…but his judgment may be slightly impaired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So drunk skinny!steve is possibly my favorite thing to write. Also, I told you there’d be some good times coming for Steve and reader…maybe they’ll start 1941 off right…

It had been a mistake for Steve to drink this much.

That much was obvious even to him, as he stumbled down the snow-covered sidewalk, using the sides of the buildings, the lampposts, and sometimes random strangers to keep himself upright.

He came to an unsteady halt outside of a small empty bakery. It was dark inside the store but soft music and light streamed from the windows above. He was unsure how he’d made it here in his state but that hardly mattered now. He teetered backward, cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted as loud as his lungs would allow.

“Y/N! Y/N, ARE YOU HOME?”

There was a brief pause and the sound of a window unlatching and Y/N’s head poked out from her white curtains.

“Steve? What the hell are you doing?”

“I CAME TO SEE YOU!” Steve yelled, louder than was probably necessary. He hiccupped and giggled unceremoniously. “CAN I COME UP?”

“Jesus Christ,” Y/N muttered to herself, grabbing her coat from her dresser and running down the stairs to the bakery below. She unlocked the front door and grabbed Steve by the front of his coat, pulling him inside.

They stood in the dark bakery for a moment, Steve grinning drowsily at her.

“Are you drunk?” Y/N said, peering at him in the dark. He hiccupped again and nodded.

“Yep,” he said proudly. “I had whiskey.”

“Well, what are you doing here?”

Steve’s stupid grin vanished and he careened forward, crashing into her. She scrambled to hold him up and in the dim light of the streetlights outside, she noticed the light green tinge in his pale complexion.

“Come on,” she sighed. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

They climbed the stairs together, Y/N’s arm keeping Steve against her side. She sat him on the edge of her bed and helped him out of his coat. Steve wavered shakily where she left him, the details of the room spinning before his eyes. He shut them in an attempt to regain his balance. When he reopened them, Y/N had returned, holding a glass of water out to him.

“Drink,” she snapped, pushing the glass into his hand. He obediently held the glass to his lips and sipped.

“This isn’t vodka,” he pouted.

“No, it’s water. You’ve had enough to drink. Probably for the rest of the new year.”

Steve scoffed and continued sipping the water, his eyes watching Y/N as she paced in front of him. He smiled.

“You’re awful pretty,” he mumbled against the glass in his mouth. She stopped pacing to frown at him.

“Why are you here, Steve?”

He set the glass down, holding it on his thigh. She took it from him and set it on the dresser.

“I miss you.”

Y/N took a deep breath. “So?”

“So I came to tell you.”

“I figured that part out,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “But what do you want me to do about it?”

“M’still in love with you,” Steve slurred. “Did you know that?”

Y/N bit her lip. She could feel her chest tighten and her mouth was dry but she refused to cry in front of him. He watched her chew on her lip, narrowing his eyes to keep them focused.

“You always do that when your nervous,” Steve observed. “You bite your lip. It makes me wanna kiss you.”

“Steve, stop!” Y/N said angrily. “I don’t know what you’re doing here or what you were thinking, drinking yourself into oblivion, but you can’t just show up here after a year and…and say things like that and expect me to just…to just—,” she stopped, feeling distinctly out of breath, her emotions threatening to overthrow her decision to remain impassive. “You need to go home, Steve,” she finished quietly.

Steve’s lower lip quivered, his blue eyes sudden glossy. “I couldn’t protect you,” he said, his voice breaking when he spoke. “I couldn’t stop that—that jerk from putting his hands on you and I was your boyfriend. I was supposed to stop him.”

Y/N stared at him, trying to sort through what he’d said. “You mean last year?”

“He was touching you and I told you to go dance with him and then I couldn’t save you. You should be with someone who can protect you.” Steve leaned forward suddenly and Y/N caught him, pushing him back into a sitting position.

“Is that what all this was about?” she asked, sitting beside him on the bed. He stared down at his lap and nodded.

“You broke up with me, stopped talking to me, told me you didn’t love me—because you didn’t rough up some jerk in an alley properly?”

Steve nodded again.

“You’re a damned idiot, Steve Grant Rogers.”

He looked up at her sadly and despite her anger, she felt her heart warm at the expression on his face. She’d missed him terribly and even though he smelled like a brewery and could hardly sit up straight, it was comforting to have him here.

“You should have some coffee and food,” she said, pulling her eyes away from his. “You need to sober up.”

She stood up to head into the kitchen but Steve reached a hand out to stop her. She looked back at him and watched him rummage in his pocket and pull out a small red velvet box. Her breath caught in her throat and she took a step back, away from him.

“What is that?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“I bought it before…well before everything last year. I was gonna ask you to marry me that night,” Steve said miserably, holding the box limply in his hand. “I thought about selling it every day for the past year—Lord knows I could’ve used the money. But I couldn’t do it.”

Y/N was blinking back tears now but her voice held steady.

“Why not?”

He smiled at her, a soft, sad smile. His hair fell into his eyes and he swiped it back with his free hand. “It was all I had left. My last reminder that for a little while, you were mine. That it was all real. I couldn’t let that go. It kept me sane on the worst days.”

She found that she couldn’t speak after that but it seemed Steve was not finished. He got to his feet slowly and walked to where she stood. He tugged her hand out and placed the box in it.

“It’s yours,” he said. “It was always meant to be yours. You can have it. You can sell it if you want. Or throw it in the river. Just take it, okay? Please.”

He tottered back to sit on the bed, his shoulders slumped down, staring blankly into space. Y/N held the box loosely in her hand, mentally talking herself out of opening it. She tucked it in her coat pocket instead and went to sit beside him again. They sat together in silence for a while, until Steve said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, that he was fairly sure he was going to retch and Y/N helped him into her bathroom. She fetched him another glass of water and tucked him into her bed and sat in her bedside chair for hours, watching him sleep. Her thoughts chased each other like children playing in the street, clashing against each other loudly. She was still furious at him for breaking her heart, for ending things so abruptly. She wanted to be angry that he’d ended it over something insignificant, but she knew him well enough to understand that it wasn’t insignificant to him. Steve wanted to be stronger than his body allowed and he put great stock into proving that he could be. But what he failed to realize, what she and Bucky had spent so much time trying to convince him, was that he was strong in all the ways that mattered, in all the ways that made her love him.

She sighed softly. She did love him; in a way she’d never imagined she could love anyone. But that made it all harder. She couldn’t erase the way she’d felt when he’d told her he didn’t love her, even if he hadn’t meant it. But the idea of continuing her life without him—it wasn’t something she could choose willingly.

The clock struck midnight and she stood up. She pulled off her coat and pulled the ring box out of its pocket, setting it on her dresser. She would deal with that problem in the morning. For now, she wanted nothing more than to spend the first night of the new year next to the man she loved, consequences be damned.

The morning came too soon, covering her small bedroom in bright light that fractured over her quilted bedspread as it filtered through her curtains. Steve was still sleeping when the light woke her, so she climbed out of bed, intent on making breakfast. Her movement seemed to jolt him, however, and he rolled towards her, arms reaching out, seeking her warmth. She chewed her lip uncertainly but gave in, letting his arms wrap around her waist and pull her close. He smelled considerably better than he had the night before, having washed up after getting sick. He smelled like Steve, like charcoal and cotton, mingled with the remnants of the whiskey he’d imbibed. She nuzzled her face into his neck and he sighed happily and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

It felt like nothing had changed, like no time had passed. The morning crept by and Y/N stayed in his arms, unwilling to face the reality that getting out of bed would entail. Eventually Steve opened his eyes, a smile spreading on his face at the picture of Y/N cradled against his chest. He ran his hands through her hair, inhaling her scent, memorizing it for the moments to come, moments that were certain to pull her away from him. She lifted her head and let him press his lips to hers, chasing the taste of her, his hunger for her intensified by the months they’d spent apart. He had no right to this and he knew it but neither of them were acknowledging the truth at the moment and he was content to keep that going as long as he could. The kiss transformed, became heated and desperate, his hands tangled in her hair, hers pressed into the fabric of his shirt. She could feel his arousal against her thigh and it created a craving for him deep within her that only grew the longer they stayed that way, their bodies slotted together perfectly. It was familiar and foreign, the comfort of his touch highlighted by the novelty of having him here again. She rocked her hips against him and felt him groan into her mouth. His hands slid down the sides of her body and his fingers tightened on her hips, pulling her nightgown up so that his erection could slide against her core through her panties. She gasped softly, but made no move to stop him, the friction sending sparks along her veins and drawing more wetness from within her. Steve’s lips moved to her neck, soft grunts and groans spilling from him as he thrust lazily against her. She moaned his name and the heat under his skin became a bright flame. He pushed against her so that she rolled back, beneath him, his hands pressed into the pillow on either side of her head. He leaned down and nipped gently at her collarbone and she hiked up her nightgown again, letting him settle between her legs. He rolled his hips with purpose now, needing more of the friction she provided. He could feel himself leaking, the combination of slick against the rough fabric of his underwear leaving him breathless and when the need for more became too great, he pulled back, pushing off his suspenders and kicking his pants off hastily.

She pulled him back to her and the new sensation of one less layer of clothing had them both sighing and gasping, her hands gripping his hair, their mouths locked together. This pleasure was dangerous, too much and not enough, and she could feel herself falling back into him, letting her heart guide her to the place where nothing mattered but his smile and his touch. She couldn’t get enough of him now, of the sounds he made with every swipe of his hardness against her heat, of the way he murmured breathless promises against her skin. The coil in her stomach tightened faster and faster and the heat inside her crept into every corner of her veins until she was shaking apart beneath him, holding on for dear life, letting the waves carry her. Steve followed her; his hands a vice grip on her hips as his body shook almost violently with his orgasm. When it was over and the air between them was breathable again, she let him rest his head against her breasts and twine his fingers with hers. There were no words; they both knew that would come later.

She heard his stomach growl after a spell and she giggled. He finally let her crawl out of bed and disappear into the bathroom to clean herself up. When she emerged she’d wrapped a robe around herself and brushed her hair and her skin glowed. He watched her move into the kitchen and heard her humming softly to herself as she cracked eggs into a frying pan and sliced up loaves of bread. Steve walked into the bathroom and cleaned up too, put his pants back on and fixed his hair. His skin was still flushed and his heart hadn’t completely found its rhythm again but he didn’t mind. He felt more alive now than he had in a year. Whatever came next couldn’t change this moment.


	6. January 1941 - April 1941

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Y/N have been best friends for years and Steve is in love with her. The new year has been good to Steve and Y/N, who have agreed to try their hand at dating each other again. But Steve is intent on doing more than dating Y/N and his patience is starting to wear thin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted fluff and here it is. Just a reminder that U.S involvement in WWII began on December 7, 1941. But don’t worry. We’ve got a ways to go before that…  
> Also: Super duper fluff fest (that’s a thing right?), mild nsfw content, mentions of sex, lots of kissing and touching, seriously so much fluff omg

January 1941

Steve held his hand out for Y/N, who took it willingly, cuddling close to his shoulder as they strolled down the sidewalk. Steve smiled; there was little he could offer in the form of warmth, which meant her proximity was simply for the purpose of being close to him and he was perfectly fine with that.

They had ridden the subway into the city for their date this afternoon and even covered in snow, Central Park was filled with people. Y/N didn’t seem to mind the cold and Steve was so happy to have her at his side that he hardly felt it. He imagined he’d feel it later—he could already hear Bucky’s Mother Hen impersonation about him trying to freeze his lungs in his chest—but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Since New Year’s Eve, he and Y/N had been on six dates, six Saturdays of quiet lunches in her apartment and films in the evening, of peaceful mornings spent in comfortable silence while Steve sketched her, covered in baking flour as she methodically made cakes for her shop. After the long year apart, every moment spent together lit a fire in Steve’s bones, kept him warm even during the icy winter.

They had agreed, at Y/N’s behest, to take things slowly this time around. She had returned the engagement ring he’s drunkenly given her on New Year’s Eve and advised him not to get rid of it—there was hope yet for them.

“I think it’s best for us to just date and see where this goes,” she’d said quietly as Steve turned the ring box over in his hands, his eyes downcast. “A lot happened last year that I think both of us need to heal from.”

Steve had agreed, mostly out of relief that she hadn’t decided to write him off completely. But with each passing day, he found it harder and harder to honor his promise to take things slow. He’d spent more than enough time hating himself for letting her go to be in any kind of doubt of what he wanted now—a future with her.

Still, he couldn’t deny that things were going well between them. And until he could figure out a sensible way to broach the subject of marriage again, he was content with enjoying what she was willing to give him.

“We should sit,” Y/N said and Steve squinted ahead of him trying to spot an empty bench. They found one several paces further down, unoccupied but for a few pigeons. Steve shooed them away and pushed the snow on the seat to the ground. Y/N sat beside him and he pulled her into his side, unwilling to relinquish her warmth for even a moment. She buried her face in his neck and he turned his head slightly to press a kiss into her hair. They sat in silence for a long while until Steve cleared his throat and Y/N looked up at him curiously.

“Next week is Valentine’s Day,” Steve said matter-of-factly. Y/N smiled.

“I’m aware.”

“What would you like to do?”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” she said. “As long as it’s with you.”

She placed one hand on the back of his neck and brought his lips to hers. Her mouth was impossibly warm and Steve parted her lips with his tongue immediately, deepening the kiss. She nipped his lower lip and felt him groan softly. Her body reacted to him instantaneously and she forced herself to break the kiss before her need for him overwhelmed her. She had made the choice not to make love to him again until she felt more secure but that did not make the choice easy. Steve would never pressure her into anything but everything from the way he looked at her to the way he kissed her made her question her decision. She pulled back from him abruptly and he looked at her quizzically but did not press the issue any further. They sat on their bench and watched the ice melt and the sun sink below the horizon before heading back to Brooklyn.

February 14, 1941

Steve watched Y/N move around her tiny kitchen with ease, bouncing slightly to the music playing from the old radio in the living room. He sat with his sketchbook on the couch, a smile lingering on his lips. He’d been in the middle of a sketch when she’d caught his attention and he’d found himself pleasantly distracted, listening to her hum along to the music. She was inordinately beautiful, in Steve’s entirely biased opinion, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She was making them a special Valentine’s Day dinner, or at least that’s what she’d called it. She could have served him bread and cheese and Steve would have been perfectly happy, so long as he was able to soak in her presence.

He set his sketchbook down on the coffee table and walked into the kitchen. Y/N was unaware of him until he placed his hands on her hips and pressed his lips to her neck. She whirled in his arms and he grinned at her, his blue eyes sparkling mischievously.

“What are you doing in here?” she scolded, not a trace of anger in her tone.

“Couldn’t help it,” Steve murmured, leaning forward to brush his mouth with hers. “Something in here looked delicious.”

Y/N blushed bright red and he peppered her flushed face with kisses, laughing at the expression on her face.

“You’ve gotten awfully bold, Steve Rogers,” she said, slightly out of breath.

“It’s the holiday,” he said, his eyes widening innocently. “It makes me…want things.”

She bit her lip and Steve leaned down and pulled it into his mouth, licking the spot where her teeth had worried the flesh and she quivered under his hands. He pulled her hard against his chest, lifting her arms to wrap them around his neck as he slanted his mouth against hers. She could feel the hard line of his arousal against her thigh and for a brief moment she forgot everything—the cake she’d been making, the music playing, her decision to remain abstinent—and she lost herself in the feeling of his lips and hands. He walked her back a bit so that her lower back hit the kitchen counter and spilled a bowl of flour, startling them both out of their reverie.

“Steve!” she squeaked, bending down to pick up the overturned bowl. He walked out of the kitchen to fetch the broom in her closet. He helped her clean up, a small smirk still pulling at the corners of his mouth. When the flour had been thoroughly swept up, Steve leaned the broom near the frame of the kitchen doorway and reached for Y/N again.

“Where were we?” he said huskily, pulling her towards him. She placed her hands firmly on his chest, keeping a small distance between them. He frowned, releasing her and stepping back further.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Y/N took a deep breath. “No. No, of course not,” she sighed. “It’s just that…I made the decision to not, you know…” She glanced up at him sheepishly. Steve’s eyes widened and a distinct sadness filled them.

“Ever again?” he asked.

“No!” Y/N cried, rushing forward and grabbing his hands. “Steve, I want to. I want you. But I think it’s smarter to wait until we’re on more even footing.”

Steve stared down at their joined hands. He was silent for a moment before he spoke.

“You’re never going to trust me again, are you?”

Y/N placed one hand on his cheek. He lifted his eyes to hers and she saw the glimmer of tears in them. She bit her lip again then leaned forward and pressed a single kiss to his lips.

“We’ll get there, I promise,” she murmured. Steve’s shoulders rose and fell as he huffed out a sigh.

“I ruined everything,” he muttered and she could hear the strain of self-loathing in his tone.

“Stop that,” she said sternly. “It’s behind us. It’s in the past. We have to focus on moving forward. Can you do that with me? Please?”

He nodded solemnly and she tossed her arms around his neck in a tight hug. When she let him go, his eyes were still glossy so she walked across the room to the radio and turned the dial until she found what she was looking for. The slow lilt of her favorite song, Fascination, serenaded them and she held her hand out for him to join her. He took it and let her pull him into the waltz, clumsily swaying to the music.

“I can’t dance,” he mumbled. “I’m gonna end up steppin’ on your toes.”

“Don’t be silly,” she whispered, leading him carefully across the living room. “Anyone can dance. All it takes is the right partner.”

April 1941

“Bucky!”

Steve crashed through the front door of the apartment, out of breath, his hair spilling into his eyes, brown paper bags falling out of his arms. His best friend glanced up from the paper he was reading, a concerned look on his face at Steve’s current state.

“Where’s the fire?”

Steve bent over, hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. Bucky could hear the painful wheeze of his lungs struggling to restore his oxygen level to normal and he shook his head.

“Steve, you idiot. Come sit down before you pass out,” he snapped. Steve stumbled to the couch and sank onto it, still breathing hard.

“I ran all the way here,” he gasped out, when he could find his words again. Bucky opened his mouth to tell him off but Steve interrupted him.

“I need you to take off for a few hours tonight.”

Bucky blinked. “Take off where?”

“Wherever,” Steve said, a plea in his voice. “I need the apartment for a couple of hours.”

“You gonna practice your tap dancing or somethin’? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, it’d be safer for me to be here for that,” Bucky quipped. Steve shoved him good-naturedly.

“Shut up, jerk. I need it for my date with Y/N tonight.”

Bucky quirked an eyebrow at him. “You two gonna get handsy with each other?”

Steve blushed. “No,” he said defensively. “I’m going to propose tonight.”

Bucky stared at him for a long minute, then his face broke into a wide grin.

“Stevie!” he bellowed, clapping Steve hard on the back. Steve choked out a cough and Bucky muttered a hasty, “Sorry, sorry!” before gripping Steve’s shoulder and pulling him into a hug.

“That’s wonderful, pal! And about time!”

Steve nodded. “I think so too. I know she said she wanted to take things slow, but Buck—,” Steve paused, wringing his hands in his lap. “I love her. I’m crazy about her. I don’t wanna wait anymore. It’s been four years. I was sure after the first one. We can make this work; I know we can.”

Bucky nodded emphatically. “Hell yeah, you can! If any two people are meant to be married, it’s you two.” Steve beamed at him. “So how ya gonna do it?”

“I’m making her dinner,” Steve said proudly, pointing at the bags he’d brought in with him. “She always cooks for us. I thought it would be nice to do it for her for a change.”

Bucky’s face fell a bit. “Steve,” he said quietly. “You’re a horrible cook.”

“Am not!”

“You burn water.”

“Shut up!”

Bucky shook his head, an amused look on his face. “Just don’t burn down the apartment, okay?” He stood up and grabbed his jacket. “I’m gonna go look for trouble. Good luck tonight.”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, pal?”

“You think she’ll say yes?”

“I think she’d be crazy not to.”

Steve watched him leave, feeling much more confident.

Bucky had been right.

Cooking had been a mistake, Steve thought, as he scrambled to put out the fire blazing in the pan on the stove. He wiped his sweaty forehead, which was now covered in soot and dumped the charred contents of his failed attempt at dinner into the trash bin. The doorbell rang as Steve picked up a baking sheet and waved frantically at the smoke gathering near the ceiling.

Steve straightened his mussed tie and hair, tucked his ash-covered shirt into his pants, which were smudged with grease and pulled open the door. Y/N’s smile faltered when she took in Steve’s appearance and the scent of burnt food that wafted through the open door.

“Uh, Steve?” she said, stepping through and looking around the apartment, which was now filled with a light haze of smoke. “What happened?”

Steve shut the door and ran his fingers through his hair nervously. “Dinner,” he said glumly. Y/N glanced back at him, her eyes raking over his disheveled form then burst into laughter. Steve frowned for a moment but found himself unable to hold that expression as Y/N crashed into him, her peals of laughter rolling over his skin like summer rain. Eventually, she caught her breath and steadied herself. She shed her jacket and set the bottle of wine she’d brought with her on the coffee table. She was wearing a pretty blue dress that matched Steve’s eyes and his heart skipped lightly as he took her in. She headed into the kitchen, tossing him a look over her shoulder, her hips swaying as she walked.

“Go clean yourself up. I’ll see what I can scrounge up in here.”

Steve licked his lips, suddenly ravenously hungry for something that wasn’t food. He shook the thought from his head and headed into the bedroom to change.

Cleaned up and feeling slightly less foolish, Steve rejoined his girlfriend in the living room. She had a casserole in the oven already and it smelled delicious. She was sitting on the couch when he reentered, already nursing a glass of wine and he sat beside her.

“You smell much better now,” she joked, smiling prettily at him. He grimaced.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said, leaning his head back against the couch. “I just wanted to do something special for you.”

“Well, burning Bucky’s kitchen down is one way to do something special.”

Steve laughed. “Please don’t tell Bucky. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

There was a moment’s pause and then her mouth was suddenly on his, the glass of wine forgotten on the coffee table. Y/N practically crawled into Steve’s lap, the hem of her dress riding up her thighs as she straddled him. Steve set his hands on her hips and drank her in, letting her slide her lips down his neck and under the top button of his shirt. He gasped when he felt her roll her hips against him and guided her over him again, letting her feel his burgeoning erection.

“Y/N…” he murmured against her hair. She moaned in response and Steve considered letting it go further, letting her take him to the edge, maybe pulling her into the bedroom and undressing her slowly, letting his lips trace the curves of her body—

“Y/N,” he said, more forcefully this time. She lifted her head to look at him, and the lust in them nearly made him forget his resolve. “W-we should stop.”

She leaned further back, still sitting in his lap. “You want to stop?”

Steve considered her question. On the one hand, he desperately did not want to stop. The feel of her against him, the way she moaned and sighed when he kissed her, the thought of being inside her again—stopping was the last thing he wanted to do.

But he remembered what she’d said, how she’d felt that being intimate again before she was ready was a bad idea and while the truth of that had hurt him at the time, he was hesitant to rush into something she would regret later. When they made love again, he wanted her to be sure.

“I don’t,” he answered honestly. “But we still should.”

She climbed off him and straightened her dress, a dusting of pink staining her cheeks. He didn’t want her to be embarrassed or to feel rejected. It was absurd. He wanted her in ways she couldn’t comprehend but he loved her and her trust meant more to him than any physical pleasure.

“Y/N,” he said gently, grabbing her hand. He stood and made her face him. He let his fingers curl in the tresses of hair that fell over her shoulders before lifting his thumb to brush against her lips. “I love you. You told me we’d get there and I believed you. We don’t have to rush.”

She looked away but he pulled her back

“I want to be sure that you trust me.”

“I do.”

Steve studied her face carefully. He wanted to believe her but he was worried she was saying it for the wrong reasons. He considered his options and then, because he couldn’t wait any longer and because one way or another, her answer would tell him everything he needed to know, he reached in his pocket, one hand still holding hers. She watched him as he pulled out the ring box he’d offered her in December and dropped to one knee. Her heart leaped frantically against her chest. Steve opened the box, revealing the small diamond ring he’d bought a year ago. It caught the light in the living room and she felt her eyes blur with tears.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Steve said, his voice clear and confident. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes with us. I’ve made decisions that I regret when it came to the way I treated you. I will always wish that I was taller, stronger, better equipped to take care of you. But there is one thing I am sure of, one decision I’m sure I made right, one thing I wouldn’t change—you. We have—I have—wasted so much time. Will you please marry me?”

Y/N huffed out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Yes,” she whispered and Steve surged to his feet and pressed his lips to hers in a frenzied kiss, one arm wrapping tightly around her waist. She held his face in her hands and kissed him until they were both breathless. When they broke apart, Steve pulled the ring from the box and slid it onto her left ring finger. His heart soared at the sight of it finally where it belonged, where he’d always meant it to be. He pulled her in with the intent of never letting her go again.

That night they made love again, for the first time since he’d broken her heart more than a year before, the whisper of pleasure and promise lingering in the air. Steve took his time with her, letting his fingertips dance on her skin, savoring the taste of her lips and the feeling of her body against his and when he sank into her, the soft sigh of his name on her lips sounded like a prayer, a song. They spent the evening wrapped in each other, so much so that Y/N forgot the casserole she’d been making in the kitchen—a fact that did not go unnoticed when Bucky came home, earlier than any of them had anticipated, to find his best friends in his bed and a burnt casserole in his oven.


	7. June 1941

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, and Y/N have been best friends for years and Steve is in love with her. After a long year apart, and several months of reconciliation, Y/N and Steve have finally reached the day they’ve both been waiting for…and it’s exactly as wonderful as they’d hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is shorter because I wanted to dedicate one chapter to just the wedding day/night. They deserve a little unfettered happiness for a change, right?

In years to come, Steve Rogers would remember his wedding day like a dream, viewed through a heavy fog, warped by the memories that followed it. He would forget the color of the flower he wore on his lapel and the names of the bridesmaids. The details of the small chapel where the ceremony took place would become a blur in his mind and he would be unable to recall what the cake served during the reception tasted like.

But for as long as Steve lived—and he lived much longer than he ever expected to—he would never forget the way he felt when the church doors opened and he got his first glimpse of Y/N, the sun haloed behind her head, the afternoon light glinting off the embroidery of her tea-length ivory dress. His heart felt as though it was swelling in his chest and he found it suddenly difficult to breathe, which was not an unfamiliar feeling, except that his breathlessness was caused by the way Y/N’s cheeks were lightly blushed and the way her soft lips curved up in a small smile. He was sure he was drowning in the way she was looking at him, her eyes never leaving him and when she finally reached him at the altar, his hands shook as he took hers.

The ceremony was brief and when, at last, Steve was able to lift the small birdcage veil from Y/N’s face and press his lips to hers, the room seemed to disappear and nothing and no one existed outside of the beautiful woman beside him—his wife.

Bucky’s parents hosted the reception and Y/N made her own wedding cake. Steve hardly ate, unable to remove his eyes or attention from his bride for most of the evening. He was in a trance, hardly believing that he was actually married and that, even more unbelievably, he was married to the stunning woman sitting next to him. She was radiant that day; her eyes sparkled when she laughed and her smile seemed brighter than usual and Steve was enraptured.

When the reception died down, Steve and Y/N said their goodbyes and went back to Y/N’s apartment for their wedding night. Steve wasn’t sure why—he’d made love to Y/N enough times to have lost his shyness and hesitation in the bedroom—but there was something different about the concept of making love to his wife. His fingers trembled as he undid the buttons of his shirt and laid his suit jacket on the back of the bedroom chair. He pulled his shoes and socks off methodically and set them neatly under the nightstand. He left his pants and undershirt on and sat stiffly on the bed to wait for Y/N to emerge from the bathroom. His stomach was a jumble of nerves and he took slow, deep breaths to calm himself. When she finally appeared, all the hard work he’d put into remaining composed was quickly undone. She was wearing a silky white nightdress that ended mid-thigh with a matching garter belt and white stockings. Steve bit his lip as he drank in her appearance. He felt himself harden as his eyes roamed over her hips and thighs, gradually moving upwards to her breasts and finally landing on her plush lips.

“You look…um, you look—,” he stuttered, unsure of the word he was looking for. There didn’t seem to be one in the English language that described her or how badly he wanted her in that moment. She smiled coyly at him and moved towards him, the dress shifting against her body and leaving just enough to the imagination to whet Steve’s appetite for her. He reached out for her as she drew near, placing his hands on her hips when she came to stand between his legs. She rested her arms on his shoulders and leaned down to brush her mouth over his, her tongue peeking out to lick at the seam. He sighed softly, running his hands down her thighs and then back up, bringing the nightgown with him. He stared at the pretty V of her panties and leaned forward to kiss her pelvic bone through the silk. She moaned above him and his body responded enthusiastically, his length twitching at the sound. He drew her panties down, over the garter and stockings until they pooled at her feet and she stepped out of them. He could smell her arousal, practically taste it in the air and it made him hungry. Her hands went to his hair as he dipped his mouth down, kissing along her dripping slit, lapping up the wetness he found there with slow, gentle kitten licks. She gasped and rolled her hips toward him, tightening her grip in his hair and he held her where she was, fingers bruising her hips as he licked and kissed her. She spread her legs for him and he found her swollen bud. He sucked it into his mouth and heard her gasp and sigh his name. His tongue circled her clitoris, maddeningly slow, tight circles that left her gasping and breathless.

“Steve…,” she whispered and he groaned into her heat in response. He scooted backward on the bed so that she could place her knees on either side of his legs and hold herself open above him. He drenched his tongue in her juices, slipping it inside her and sliding it back out, feeling her hips jerk and grind down onto him. He could tell she was close, her movements speeding up as he lapped at her, alternating between sucking and licking and kissing until she was a writhing mess above him. When she finally came, her body shuddered and her soft cries of pleasure dug into Steve’s senses and left him desperate to be inside her.

She helped him with his pants and undershirt, then pulled his underwear off him, revealing his rigid length. She stroked her hand over the smooth head and down his shaft and he bucked his hips, intent on creating more friction. She swiped her thumb over the slit at the top, collecting the salty-sweet drops of pre-come that gathered there and sucking them into her mouth. Steve watched her with darkened eyes and pulled himself onto the bed completely, leaving room for her to lie down. He kneeled between her legs and bent down to press his mouth to hers, the kiss hard and hungry. He trailed his lips to her neck and the tops of her breasts, then pulled her into a sitting position to lift the nightgown above her head. He tossed it on the floor beside the bed as she undid her bra, leaving her breasts exposed, her nipples hard despite the heat in the room. He pulled one into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it and sucking gently. She moaned and he switched breasts, nipping the skin around her areola before moving down her stomach, leaving open-mouthed kisses on her hips and thighs.

“Steve,” she moaned and he hummed against her skin. “I need you,” and her voice was breathless. “Please.”

Steve moved back up her body and lined himself up with her soaked entrance. He pushed the head of his cock into her tight, wet heat and exhaled slowly through his nose as the pleasure sent sparks down his spine. He thrust in slowly, taking his time, giving himself to her inch by inch until he was fully seated. Her nails dug into his skin but he barely felt it. He could only feel the way she was gripping him, holding him inside her as though her life depended on it. He let his lips brush hers and whispered a soft ‘I love you’ against her cheek before pulling himself back and snapping his hips forward. She cried out, begging him for more and he obliged her, setting a slow and steady pace, driving himself as deep as he could go, gasping with every thrust. She felt incredible, like wet, hot silk wrapped around his length, tightening with every subtle roll of her hips. He concentrated on not losing his breath, on maintaining his pace until he needed more and he sped up, the bed rocking beneath them as he angled his thrusts deeper, chasing his release. He was hitting her exactly where she needed him, each roll of his hips sending fire through her veins, the coil in her stomach tightening faster and faster. She murmured his name over and over, with occasional pleas for him not to stop, begging him to take her over the edge. Steve grunted desperately against her shoulder, the movement of his hips becoming erratic as his orgasm built and when the air seemed to have been siphoned almost entirely from his lungs, he came, body jerking forward as he spilled himself inside her. She followed him, breaking apart beneath him, wave after wave of pleasure washing over her.

“I love you,” he gasped, louder this time. She murmured it back, stroking his hair as he collapsed on top of her, his length softening inside her. He pulled himself out and stood, walking to the bathroom to fetch a washcloth to clean both of them up. She sighed as he cleaned her, the cool, damp fabric relieving some of the heat that lingered under her skin. He tossed the towel into the heap of clothing near the bed and got under the covers with her, pulling her into his arms.

“How does it feel?” he said against her hair, stroking circles into her waist. “To be married to me? Are you happy?”

“Of course I am,” she said, laughing a bit. “Aren’t you?”

“I’m the happiest man in the world.”

“Mmm…,” she hummed in agreement. “And the luckiest.”

“No argument there,” he said, grinning. He was silent for a while, pressing slow, lingering kisses to her lips and neck. He lifted his head after a while and studied her face, eyes half-closed, lips slightly parted. Desire stirred in his stomach as he looked at her and he felt himself growing hard again.

“You’re insatiable,” she said, eyes still closed.

“You’re irresistible.”

She opened her eyes and smiled. “I love you, Steven Grant Rogers. Always and forever.”

He pulled her tight against him and nuzzled his face against her cheek. “I love you too, Mrs. Y/N Rogers. Always and forever.”

And for as long as they both lived, they never stopped.


End file.
